


xenocultures 101

by oredatte



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Getting Together, M/M, POV Leonard "Bones" McCoy, Post-Star Trek Beyond, bones gets introspective and realizes hey! maybe racism isn't the answer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-21
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:13:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23604346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oredatte/pseuds/oredatte
Summary: Spock is, despite what he might have you believe, a person.
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock
Comments: 8
Kudos: 113





	xenocultures 101

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EurekaTPK](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EurekaTPK/gifts).



Leonard McCoy is a reasonable man. He’s an old country doctor—and a damn good one, at that—and he therefore has at least a half decent head sitting atop his shoulders. But sometimes he finds himself in situations that make him wonder if he ain’t a few bricks shy of a load. At the end of the day, he did this to himself, signing up to hurtle into the great unknown for five goddamn years with Captain James Tiberius Kirk and his computer of a first officer. No sane man would agree to that, after everything that’s happened.

That makes Leonard either really dumb or really crazy, and he’s not sure which is worse.

Going into the Nero debacle, Leonard knew Jim. He knew Jim almost better than he knew himself, so he was fully aware of what he was getting into when he shot the brat up with that vaccine and made him swell up like a pufferfish. He knew Jim would find his way into that captain’s chair, and he knew that he’d be dragged along for the ride, whether he liked it or not. He let it happen, because no matter what Leonard says about Jim, Jim’s his best friend, and Leonard trusts him. So when Jim used those damn baby blues on him, begging him to stay on for a five year mission, Leonard was powerless to say no.

After the first five year mission, Leonard _thought_ he knew Spock. He thought he knew that green-blooded hobgoblin as well as he needed to, thought he had the whole picture, and he wasn’t really inclined to learn any more. Hell, they’d worked together for half a decade. What more could Spock really be hiding behind that motherboard he calls a heart?

How much more could there really be, underneath the icy looks and blank silences and raised eyebrows? There was banter, sure, but that was it. It was a back-and-forth that felt like a game Leonard was constantly losing.

But then all that Krall garbage happened and suddenly Spock was… _Spock_. He was… well, not a human, obviously, but not an alien, either. He was a person. And Leonard suddenly realized—with enough guilt to kill a horse—that he hadn’t really seen Spock as a person before. He was an entity.

Spock had always been The Vulcan, to Leonard. He’d always been the Alien that tried to get Jim expelled, the Alien who then literally almost strangled him to death, the Alien who did nothing but spout probabilities and cite Starfleet regulations. To be honest, he drove Leonard bonkers. He was such a pain in the ass he could piss off the damn pope! Everything he did and said seemed to dig right under Leonard’s skin, and Leonard always felt bruises there, after, like he was a delicate Georgian peach and not a man.

Something about Spock made Leonard angry enough to ignore the simple fact that Spock is a person. And despite what Spock might want you to think, he is, indeed, a person.

As a Starfleet doctor, Leonard knows about as much as there is to know about the myriad species in the Federation. He knows about xenocultural differences, he knows that other beings just simply interact with and view the world in a different way, and he knows enough about Vulcans to know why Spock is the way he is. But Leonard heard half-human—heard that Spock’s mother was from the same blue ball of water and gas that he himself is—and got tunnel vision. He heard half-human and his brain jumped to full human and suddenly Spock was an alien being held to human standards, the first thing they tell you not to do in xenocultures 101.

Leonard, of all people, should know better. He thinks about it and it feels like rot in his gut, like his intestines are dying and decaying and spilling into his abdominal cavity.

In his defence, it’s not like Spock made it easy. Spock purposely shied away from emotions that even a full Vulcan would feel, pushed every one of Leonard’s buttons he could get his little hobgoblin hands on, and just generally made working with him a huge headache for most parties involved. Sometimes he would show mercy to Uhura or Jim—or even Chekov, on occasion, because he seems to have a soft spot—but never Leonard. Spock met Leonard blow for blow and did nothing to disavow his reservations and prejudices.

On Altamid, though, with Spock’s blood on his hands, Leonard realizes just how terrifyingly _mortal_ Spock is. Spock, who always seemed so invincible and so powerful, is one misstep away from death. One slip of the hand, one inhalation too deep, and Spock is _dead_. Just like that. 

Leonard has nothing but a strange weapon and some shrapnel and he makes it work, he always makes it work, but he’s fucking _scared_. He’s a doctor—he’s never been scared like that, not since Jim’s heart stopped beating. He’s lost patients before but he’s never been afraid, like that, fingers trembling with it.

Spock may drive him batshit but Leonard doesn’t want the man dead. Leonard has never wanted anyone dead, really.

Except Nero. And Khan. And maybe Krall, now, because this is kind of a shitshow. Fuck those guys, y’know?

While the two of them traipse around Altamid with their arms around one another, Leonard keeps thinking about Spock, about how scared he was for Spock’s life, about how strange the Vulcan blood felt on his palms. He thinks about the way Spock’s surprisingly expressive eyes had clenched tightly closed with the pain, the way his smooth voice had groaned and screamed, the way he’d hurt so openly. He thinks of Spock’s hurt and he hurts, too, somewhere deep in his heart.

Everything changes, for Leonard, when he sees Spock smile and hears him laugh. That sight and sound is finer than frogs’ hair split four ways, like Spock has somehow hidden the sun in his chest and was just now letting Leonard have a glimpse.

His dark eyes are alight, handsome face cradling that expression like a newborn, and lord almighty, it’s a beautiful sight.

When Leonard realizes that it’s delirium, well, that’s less beautiful.

But still that moment sticks with him. Spock’s lips curled into a smile so sweet Leonard’s teeth ache with it, his voice oozing mirth like it’s boiling over—he’s warm and happy and he’s shining so bright that Leonard can barely look at him. But look he does. He looks upon a face he was never meant to see and he feels, above all, like the luckiest man to ever live.

How many people have ever seen Spock smile like that? Heard him laugh? Has Lieutenant Uhura ever heard that? Has Jim? Leonard has, now. Leonard has.

Leonard looked upon Spock’s true face, if only for a moment, and knew he’d do anything to make Spock smile like that again. He saw that face and in it, he saw the sun. He saw everything Spock pretended he didn’t have, everything Spock viciously shielded from the outside world, and he _wants_.

He wants that. He wants that more than he’s ever wanted anything—to be shown that glorious inner world by Spock’s own volition. To be gifted a glimpse, rather than stealing one. It’s an intoxicating thought.

Back in San Francisco, amidst the court martials and police interviews in the aftermath of yet another near-catastrophe, Leonard decides he needs to make things right if he ever wants Spock to trust him. Sure, Spock was no peach to Leonard, neither, but Spock has been through a hell of a lot in the short time between their initial meeting and their stint on Altamid. Leonard was just grumpy because Jim was being his usual pain in the ass self—he didn’t lose his planet or his mother, and he certainly didn’t have to watch Jim die.

Determined to apologize and hopefully make friends—and maybe more, down the line—Leonard starts his somewhat arduous search for Spock.

He finds him in the Starfleet Academy botany labs, which are really an elaborate system of greenhouses that are just called labs to seem more official. They’re more commonly used for dates instead of research because of their decadence. Aesthetic clearly prevailed in the design, here, rather than practicality of any sort.

Spock is, unsurprisingly, alone.

His silhouette is severe against the dying light of the sun. It’s almost dusk and the overhead lights haven’t come on yet, so he’s cast in shades of orange and purple, making him look almost ethereal. Leonard would say he looked like an angel if he believed angels had pointy ears and dressed all in black.

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock greets, voice empty of everything but the letters themselves.

Leonard groans internally—Spock won’t make this easy, will he? He never does. “Hey, Spock. What are you doin’ in here?”

Silence lingers, for a moment, as Spock carefully weighs his words. He’s deciding what he wants to share, and some hopeless part of Leonard hopes that he decides to share it all. “I came to check progress on the favinit plants being cultivated here. They are from Vulcan-that-was, so it is a matter of great importance that they succeed now, for later transport to New Vulcan. They seem to be doing rather well.” He sounds inexplicably fond of the plants, and Leonard wonders if Spock has been a little more hands-on than he’s making it sound.

“Why are they so important? Are they edible?”

For once, Spock doesn’t seem annoyed by the question, and if Leonard didn’t know better, he’d say Spock seemed pleased. Perhaps it’s because of Leonard’s genuine curiosity, which is a stark departure from the accusatory questions he’s spat at Spock in the past. “They are indeed edible,” Spock says graciously. “In fact, they are often used to make favinit butter, which is a staple in Vulcan cuisine. If we can breed favinit here, it will be a great boon to the diaspora on New Vulcan. It is perhaps sentimental, but many prefer familiar flavors in times of need, like what we find ourselves in now.”

“A little taste of home,” Leonard hums, feeling blessed by this information, so lucky that Spock chose to share it with him. “Anyone can understand that. Which ones are they?”

Spock gestures for Leonard to follow and so he does, trailing behind Spock as they weave through the maze of planters and crawling vines. They walk in comfortable silence until they reach the very back of the last greenhouse, which is dry and hot and uncomfortable, despite the late hour. Leonard would say it’s hot as Vulcan, and he’d be right.

Against one wall, there’s a table littered with planter boxes that are overflowing with red, a red so vivid it’s almost hard to look at. Spock inclines his head toward one of the planters and says, “This is them. The first ones bloomed just yesterday.”

When he gets close enough, Leonard can see a pale yellow flower nestled amongst leaves of red. He stretches his hand toward it, then pauses, trying to gauge Spock’s reaction before he puts his grubby little hands on the favinit. Spock says nothing, he just raises his eyebrow in that adorable Spock way, and Leonard takes that as the go ahead to touch. Light as a feather, he strokes his finger along one of the petals, unable to suppress his startled laughter when the petal quickly curls away from him. “Shy little fella, ain’t he?”

“While I don’t understand your propensity to humanize and gender inanimate objects, I find myself illogically agreeing with your analysis nonetheless. The favinit are indeed ‘shy’, doctor.”

Leonard’s kneejerk reaction is to kick up a big stink and complain about Spock calling him illogical again, but he swallows that reflex down by sheer force of will. He thinks about what Spock said and—in a moment of clarity he hasn’t had since JoJo was born—he realizes that Spock is _teasing him_ , and doing so almost fondly. Well, two can play at that game. “Didn’t think you knew what shy was.”

Spock looks affronted while also simultaneously looking completely neutral. Leonard isn’t sure how he manages it, but it’s definitely hilarious. “The word ‘shy’ is a part of basic english vocabulary, so it’s quite logical that I know its meaning. You, on the other hand, seem to struggle in that regard.”

Unable to hold back his snickers, Leonard replies, “I speak english just as well as you do, pointy.” The insult holds none of the vitriol it did before, and Spock—because he’s an observant bastard—notices.

“That is blatantly untrue,” Spock says, voice dry but mischievous in a way that Leonard has never heard before. “Roundy.”

Leonard laughs loudly, loud enough to startle himself with the sudden ferocity of it. He keeps laughing until he’s wheezing, nearly coughing as he doubles over to put his hands on his knees, face flushed. He nearly jumps out of his skin when Spock rests a gentle hand on his back, but he doesn’t shake the hand off. “Did you just call me ‘roundy’?” Leonard eventually manages to squeeze out, voice still breathless.

“I assume it is the opposite of pointy, so it seemed a fitting response.” Spock looks almost nauseatingly proud of himself. His hand is still on Leonard’s back.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle! Good old Mr. Spock makin’ a joke. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

Wrinkling his nose ever so slightly—a movement Leonard never would’ve noticed had he not been studying Spock’s face very closely—Spock tuts, “There is no need for insults, Doctor. Vulcans do not ‘joke’.” Somehow, he still seems smug, which doesn’t make a lick of sense, but Leonard enjoys it nonetheless.

“Right, my bad,” Leonard concedes humbly, finally standing back up to his full height. Spock looks distinctly startled by the concession, which makes Leonard smirk. “That’s actually what I want to talk to you about.”

“Jokes?”

Leonard snorts. Spock’s a smart person, sure, but he’s also dense. “No, jackass. I meant the, uh, insults. I haven’t exactly been fair to you and I wanna make it right.” Spock raises a single eyebrow, which Leonard takes as a sign to keep going. “I kept calling you stuff like ‘hobgoblin’ and that ain’t kosher, y’know, I shouldn’t be tryin’ to hold you to human standards. I… did what I bet lotsa others did, I heard half-human and then expected you to act like a human when that just ain’t the way you’re wired. Sure, you really get my goat sometimes, but I haven’t been fair to you.”

For a long time, Spock is silent. He is studying Leonard’s face closely, like the crow’s feet hugging his eyes will explain what brought this sudden change of heart. Leonard, for one, doesn’t think it’s so crazy that he realized he was being a dick.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Leonard offers, trying to give Spock an easy out. “You don’t owe me jack shit, least of all forgiveness. Now, you sure didn’t make my life easy, but I took things too far, and I know that. That’s something I gotta live with. I’ll see you around, yeah?” And with that, he turns on his heel, planning to schlep back to his and Jim’s temporary apartment so he can bust out his cache of Andorian ale.

A cool hand wraps around Leonard’s wrist and his mind explodes with color. He can hear his own heartbeat, can smell his own cologne, can see the back of his own head. All this happens for only a second before Spock’s mental shields strengthen, but for that brief moment, Leonard tastes the universe. Vulcans are touch telepaths, aren’t they? Is that how Spock sees the world?

Is that how Spock sees him?

“You may not seek forgiveness, but I give it nonetheless.”

“Why?”

Spock tilts his head to the side, meeting Leonard’s gaze with molten brown eyes that Leonard almost wants to drown in. “As you have said, doctor—I didn’t make your life easy. I admit to antagonizing you when I perhaps should not have. Our relationship was mutually antagonistic, and while your xenophobia was unwelcome, the banter itself was not. I… found satisfaction in our dialogue.”

“Isn’t satisfaction an emotion?”

“It seems I have allowed you to operate under a misapprehension for far too long. Vulcans _do_ feel, doctor. In fact, we feel more intensely than humans or Andorians or even Klingons. We simply choose not to let those emotions control us, for if they did, the consequences would be dire. We feel but we do not acknowledge them outside meditation.”

Leonard, shocked that Spock has chosen to share this information with him, slumps against one of the tables. “Why… why are you telling me this?”

Inexplicably, Spock takes a step closer. His robes rustle with the movement and Leonard is suddenly struck with the desire to touch—he wants to feel the fabric under his fingers, wants to know what Spock’s face feels like, if the skin there is as cool and soft as his hands. It’s hard to hold back, to keep his questing fingers to himself. Spock looks so inviting, here, in this dark greenhouse surrounded by plants from his home. “I am telling you this because you deserve to know.”

Shaking his head, Leonard replies, “No, I don’t. But thanks for telling me. It… it explains a lot, I think. I’m still sorry.” He licks his lips and Spock’s eyes flicker down to rapturously watch the movement and holy shit—is Spock _checking him out_? Are they _flirting_ right now? Is that what all this has been building to?

Shit, have they been flirting this entire time? Is that what all the arguing was?

Well. There’s only one way to find out. Leonard takes a step forward, toward Spock, and Spock doesn’t bat an eye. In fact, his eyes grow darker, like that’s just what he wanted. Oh, it is _on_.

“Kaiidth,” Spock says, voice slightly deeper than normal, almost like a supremely pleased cat’s purr. It sends a shiver down Leonard’s spine. “What is, is. Do not trouble yourself with things that cannot be changed.” After a moment, Spock steps even closer to Leonard, putting himself within arm’s reach, now. Leonard could just… touch, if he wanted to.

God, does he want to.

He really hopes Spock wants him to too, because it’s now or never, and Leonard is taking one out of Jim’s book and jumping without looking. He takes another step forward so that their chests almost touch, close but not quite there. It’s up to Spock, now—does he want this as much as Leonard does?

Spock’s voice is raspy when he says, “I’ll tell you another fact, doctor. Leonard. Vulcans…” He trails off, lifting his hand toward Leonard with just the pointer and middle fingers extended. “Kiss with their hands.”

Heart damn near beating out of his chest, Leonard mirrors the movement. “Like this?”

Nodding, Spock touches Leonard’s fingers with his own, which sends a strange jolt up Leonard’s arm. That must be the touch telepathy. It’s like an electric shock but warm and familiar, like a wave of comfort traveling along his bones. The sensation is exceedingly strange but he quickly decides he could easily get used to it, that feeling of being a tuning fork conducting affection instead of sound.

They gently trace their fingers along one another’s, breathing softly into the shared space between them, when suddenly their lips meet in a human kiss and now they’re doing that, too. Leonard isn’t sure who started it but that doesn’t matter, now.

Together, they get lost in it. They get lost in the feeling of lips pressed against lips, of Spock’s hands trailing up Leonard’s sides, of Leonard’s fingers carding through Spock’s silky hair.

Eventually, they pull back, and Leonard is bright red and he _knows_ he’s bright red but he can’t help it. And honestly? He’s way too happy to even think about caring. He just _kissed Spock_. He just kissed Jim’s hoity-toity first officer, the first Vulcan in the Fleet, the only human-Vulcan hybrid to ever exist, the most unique being in the universe.

Well, more accurately, Spock kissed him. Spock kissed him stupid.

“Damn, Spock, where’d you learn to kiss like that?”

Spock smirks and it makes the butterflies in Leonard’s stomach go wild, thrashing and straining against the delicate mucosal lining. “I believe the saying goes: a gentleman never kisses and tells.”

Groaning, Leonard leans forward to press his forehead against Spock’s, silently reveling in the contact when Spock doesn’t shy away. He can feel Spock’s mind brushing against his, like waves gently lapping at the shore. “How do you even know that line, huh? You don’t know what a crawdad is but you know a gentleman never kisses and tells? You don’t make a lick of sense.”

“I was under the impression that you prefer it when I use Standard colloquialisms.”

Leonard hums his assent instead of replying, because he’s just noticed how lonely Spock’s neck looks, pale against the dark cloth of his robes. Tilting his head, Leonard trails kisses from Spock’s lips down to his jaw, humming still, then nuzzling the exposed skin of his neck. Through the skin contact, Leonard can feel Spock’s deep satisfaction, and even a hint of playfulness. It’s intoxicating.

Spock shifts slightly to allow Leonard more access. “Then do not complain, ashayam.”

Rearing back, Leonard squints at Spock, who looks slightly put out now that his neck isn’t getting any more attention. “What’d you say?” Leonard asks, because he knows maybe three words in Vulcan, and ‘ashayam’ is not one of them.

“It is of no importance.” Spock’s cheeks flush green, just the tiniest bit. What, is he embarrassed or something? That’s adorable!

“No, seriously. What’d you say?”

Instead of answering, Spock kisses Leonard again, and he forgets he ever asked Spock anything in the first place. In fact, he forgets his own damn name, for a while. Damn those green-blooded lips.

Later, after Spock walks him back to his and Jim’s place like a Victorian suitor, Leonard grabs his padd to send a quick message. It’s still early enough for her to be up, so it’s no surprise when he gets an almost instant reply. Uhura’s first message is complete nonsense—a keysmash, Leonard thinks. Her second message has an actual answer, and it makes Leonard turn red up to his ears.

_‘Ashayam’ means ‘beloved’ in Vulcan. Congrats, Leonard—you snagged a winner._

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/transboybakugou) and [tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/jimkirkswaterboy)


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